


Young Gods

by CloudAtlas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Bisexual Female Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Culver University, Deaf Character, F/F, Friendship, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>WOMEN’S SELF-DEFENCE CLASSES</i> it reads, <i>with HOPE VAN DYNE, TRISH WALKER and AMERICA CHAVEZ.</i></p>
<p>The start date is next Monday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Gods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gsparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsparkle/gifts).



> gsparkle; I think once you've read this, you'll have a pretty good idea of who wrote it. BUT I COULDN'T PASS THIS UP. <3
> 
> Title from the song by Halsey. But really, it's from the [twenty one pilots vs Halsey mashup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysp2c7rxcSo), which is, in my opinion, way better. Even if it's not called Young Gods anymore. Thank you to my usual cheerleader **gecko** and my beta queen **ink**.  <3
> 
>    
> cw: the beginning of this stories alludes to a past non-con attempt. It's not explicitly described or even named, but Kate is still off balance and unsettled by it.

Every time Kate closes her eyes, Jack is there. No matter what she thinks about, her thoughts inevitably drift and then Jack is there and she’ll jerk out of whatever doze she’s managed, heart pounding and gasping for breath.

It’s been a week.

She’d thought she was getting better, getting over it. She has, at least, stopped flinching if Clint surprises her. Tonight was supposed to be the first time she doesn’t fall asleep on the couch or crawl into Clint’s bed because at least having him there, having his even breathing one pillow over, helps to give her something to focus on that isn’t her endless circling thoughts.

But.

Kate sighs and rolls onto her back.

Clint had given her a worried look earlier when she’d walked into her room rather than following him into his. She hates that look. She’s never wanted Clint to worry about her; worrying about her isn’t his job. He worries about enough stuff already.

She shifts, a lock of hair somehow falling and brushing against her neck, and she flinches so hard she hears the bed creak. Abruptly, she feels tears welling behind her eyes.

She hates this, hates Jack for making her feel so _helpless_ and so _scared_. For making Cling worry and for making her flinch at every little thing. Hates him, hates him, _hates him._

Kate takes a deep breath, swallows what little pride she feels she’s managed to retain, and gets out of bed.

Knocking loudly on someone’s door in the middle of the night always feels wrong, but knocking softly never wakes anyone and definitely won’t wake Clint. Kate bangs on the door as loud as she dares and is surprised when Clint answers almost immediately.

He’s wearing one of his hearing aids.

Kate’s halfway to opening her mouth to ask, but Clint beats her to the punch.

“I wanted to be able to hear you,” he says, shrugging, the _if you needed my help_ left unsaid.

And Kate tries to smile, tries to convey how grateful she is for him, for everything he’s willing to do for her, but it gets stuck halfway. She feels her chin wobble, that awful thing she’d assumed only happened in cartoons, and suddenly she’s crying, huge wracking sobs that have her curling into herself.

“Hey,” Clint says quietly, “it’s alright. You’re alright.”

And he wraps his arm around her shoulder and gently steers her into his bed, lying down next to her and removing his single hearing aid – and he _fucking hates_ sleeping in them, but he’d gone to bed wearing one so he could hear if _she needed him_ and that makes her cry even harder– and letting his solid presence provide all the comfort he never seems to be able to say out loud.

Kate eventually falls asleep curled into Clint’s side, lulled to sleep by the sound of his even, heavy breaths.

 

“Fuck this shit,” Kate suddenly exclaims, pushing her books away from herself and startling Clint in the process. “Fuck it. I’m not – I’m not letting this happen. He’s fucking – he’s not having this _hold_ on me.”

“What?”

“I’ll go to the hearing. And I’ll testify and shit, but that’s… that’s it. I’m not… I’m not letting him have this hold on me. I’m not letting him make me so scared I don’t _do stuff_.”

She glares at Clint, and then at her books, before pointing her finger at him threateningly. “And you’re not going to get in any more punch-ups over him.”

Clint doesn’t even look guilty and her eyes sweep down to his bruised knuckles before fixing him with another glare. “Alright?”

“He’s got a broken nose now. I’m good.”

“No, you’re not,” she says, because she can see the anger fizzing under his skin. It’s an anger she’s very familiar with, both as it’s _her_ anger too and because Clint spent his entire childhood angry. She probably knew him angry before she knew him happy.

Clint shrugs. “No, I’m not. But me beating him to death won’t fix this and it won’t make it so it never happened, so I’m just going to have to deal.”

“Okay, well…” She’s not too sure what to say to that so she doesn’t say anything. “I’m going to the gym.”

Though maybe not her old gym on campus. She went there with – well, anyway. Not that gym. There’s one closer to her place, near the community college. She’ll try there.

“You okay?” Clint asks, in that way he has that says _I know you don’t want me to ask and you’re going to say ‘fine’ anyway but I’m still going to ask._ She’d find it annoying, but she’s used it herself on him so much she doesn’t really have a leg to stand on. Plus, she appreciates it.

Seriously, why couldn’t it have been _Clint_ she fell for? That would have been _so much easier_. He’s nice, he’s respectful, he’s funny. On the other hand, he’s also basically her brother and _ew_. But if she had then this would never have –

But it did. And to be honest, she’d rather have Clint as her friend than date him and inevitably split up – Clint is a nice guy but holy crap is he bad at relationships – and then maybe lose him forever.

She gives him a quick, fierce hug.

“I’m good, Clint,” she says into his shoulder.

“Do something nice, okay?” she says, pulling away. “Go out, see Jess, I’m good.”

A complicated expression crosses Clint’s face at the mention of Jess, but right now Kate doesn’t have the mental capacity to suss out Clint’s issues with his girlfriend. She’s fairly sure he realises this too, because the expression disappears almost as soon as it arrives.

“Okay,” he says simply. “I’ll make mac and cheese. Leave it in the fridge.”

Clint’s mac and cheese is about the greatest comfort food known to man. Or at least Kate thinks so. Clint hates it because he ate it so often as a kid, but Kate loves it because she _never_ ate it as a kid. She shoots him a quick smile.

“Thanks, Clint.”

 

The gym is called Hope’s, which to Kate sounds more like a name for a bar than a gym, and she’s shown around by a blonde woman called Trish. It’s the usual spiel; how to use the equipment, save limits, having spotters, the trainers available, and Trish is visibly relieved when Kate says she’s well acquainted with gyms leading Kate to assume that the post-New Year’s rush has been trying the trainers’ patience more than usual.

This gym is smaller than the campus gym, but it’s clean and the equipment seems well looked after. There are posters of sports personalities on the wall – Serena Williams, Muhammed Ali, Alex Morgan – and the overall feeling is that of a place that is cared for and loved by those who run it. Which makes a nice change from the campus gym, which is a testament to how long things can keep functioning after being used by thousands of students who know very well that the equipment isn’t theirs and that they won’t get in trouble for trashing it when no one’s watching. Because the campus gym is the worst. Really, she thinks as she adjusts the setting on her treadmill, she should have joined the gym Clint joined. In fact, it’s kind of stupid that she didn’t, seeing as that’s where Willowdale’s archery ranges are. She has the archery membership; she just never joined the gym. The campus gym was closer and hey, it’s not like she can’t afford it.

That’ll teach her to be rich and lazy.

Kate sets a moderate pace and, for a while, loses herself in the rhythmic sound of her feet on rubber. It’s relaxing in the way running always is and it quietens her mind for the first time in ages.

She’s just passing the five kilometre mark when a guy starts up the treadmill behind her. She can see his hazy reflection in the window in front of her. He adjusts the setting on the machine and then starts a pretty hard pace for himself, headphones in and a determined expression on his face. And normally this wouldn’t bother Kate, normally this would be fine, but she can feel his presence at her back as if he’s watching her, and his reflection in the window keeps catching her eye until she’s paying more attention to the guy over her shoulder than what her feet are doing, her steps becoming erratic. She knows she should stop, but she’s also  _not letting this win_  and she’s so focussed on that, and the man, and everything except her feet that she hits the plastic edging of the treadmill and stumbles, hitting her outstretched left hand on the treadmill handle.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a large hand reaches to grip her upper arm. Kate’s lizard brain screams  _danger!_  although her rational mind is saying  _calm down_  and she shies away, losing her footing completely and falling to the left into the adjacent treadmill.

When she looks up again she sees the hand belongs to a huge black man wearing a red tank top and shorts. His hand is still outstretched and he’s wearing a concerned expression, but Kate registers none of that. She only sees how big he is, how easy it would be for him to hold her down, and she panics, scrambling away and falling to the floor.

The man takes an automatic step backwards, spreading his hands in the universal gesture of  _woah hey don’t worry_  just as Trish arrives.

“Kate! Are you alright?” she asks as the man slowly lowers his hands.

Kate comes back to herself a little, registering the gym and the other gym users and all the eyes turned in her direction.

“I – ”

She cuts herself off, wishing fiercely for Clint to be here with his brusque concern and awkward words and unfailing kindness. She can feel tears prick the corners of her eyes.

“Sorry,” she mumbles to the guy who tried to catch her, though she’s not quite able to meet his gaze.

“No,” he says, his voice deep and measured. “You have nothing to apologise for. I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“It’s alright, Luke,” Trish says to the man – Luke, apparently – when he continues to hover in a not-all-that-reassuring manner. “I’ve got it.”

Luke nods, casting Kate one last worried glance before moving away. The man who had startled her follows him, and Kate briefly wonders if they’re friends before forcibly pushing them form her mind.

“Are you okay, Kate?” Trish asks.

Kate nods, but she knows it’s not convincing and internally she’s cringing away from the obvious follow-up questions she’s sure Trish is going to ask. But Trish doesn’t ask what happened, or why Kate reacted like that, she only says, “Is there anyone you’d like me to call?”

Kate bites down on the  _yes_  that’s trying to force its way past her teeth. She wants Clint to turn up, to tell her it’s alright and that she’s not an idiot – because she feels so stupid now, wound so tight she reacts without thinking – but he should be out with Jess now, or at class or… she’s not even sure. She’s not sure what day it is or anything.

She shakes her head.

“Are you sure?” Trish asks. “Here, let’s get you up.”

Trish takes her arm and helps her to her feet, guiding her over to some chairs that are lined up along the wall leading to the locker rooms before sitting down beside her. She produces a bottle of water from somewhere and gently pushes it into Kate’s unresisting hands.

“Do you live close by? ‘Cause I can take you home if you’d like.”

“I can manage,” Kate mutters, embarrassed and still fighting back tears.

“It’s no trouble,” Trish insists, but Kate shakes her head.

“Okay,” Trish says, resignation tinging her tone. She rubs her hands up and down her thighs in a helpless manner, as if she wants to reach out but doesn’t feel that she should and doesn’t know what to do with her hands as a consequence. “If you’re sure.”

Kate nods and stands up, giving Trish a small and not very convincing smile before heading into the locker room to get changed.

She doesn’t cry in the shower, but it’s a close thing. Kate leans up against the wall, the cool tiles a marked counterpoint to the hot water beating down on her, and makes a point of breathing deeply and evenly until the burning behind her eyes goes away.

She towels herself dry hard enough to rub her skin bright pink, throws her gym clothes into her bag, and is about to try and slink through the gym as unobtrusively as she can manage when she sees a flyer stuck to the noticeboard by the door. She stares at it a moment, then looks around surreptitiously before ripping it off the wall and leaving.

_WOMEN’S SELF-DEFENCE CLASSES_  it reads,  _with HOPE VAN DYNE, TRISH WALKER, and AMERICA CHAVEZ._

The start date is next Monday.

 

Kate doesn’t tell Clint about the incident at Hope’s and she doesn’t mention to him that she’s planning to go to self-defence classes. Not because she thinks he’d mock her or because she doesn’t feel she can trust him. It’s just… he’d wear his sad-angry face and she doesn’t want to see his sad-angry face because she never ever wants to be the reason for it. Even though she’s  _not_ , she hasn’t done anything; he’s not sad and angry  _at_  her, he’s sad and angry  _for_  her.

But still, she doesn’t want that face. Not now. It’d probably make her cry and she’s  _not fucking doing that_  any more.

The following Monday Kate turns up at Hope’s Gym for the self-defence class about ten minutes early, after telling Clint she’s spending the evening in the library. Clint had given her a strange look, mostly because she never studies more than she could get away with and never in the evenings, but he’d let it slide because… well, she’s not sure why. Clint is a mystery unto himself.

There are seven other women waiting for the self-defence class, ranging from a girl who’s probably  _just_  turned seventeen to a woman in her sixties. Kate introduces herself to the girl closest to her – a tiny woman called Jubilee, of all things – but doesn’t get much further because a woman strides out wearing black Lycra workout gear and a determined expression and introduces herself as Hope van Dyne.

Hope runs through the aims of the class, tells them about health and safety and the building’s fire codes, introduces Luke – the guy who’d tried to catch Kate the other day – as the guy who’s volunteered to be thrown around by Hope as an illustration of how even the biggest guy can be beaten.

And then she introduces today’s co-instructor, America Chavez, and Kate stops paying attention.

Kate has always known she’s bi. And by ‘always’ she means that she met Karolina Dean when she was thirteen and immediately knew she wanted to kiss her as much, if not more, than she wanted to kiss Noah Varr. She knows she’s bi, despite having never slept with, or even dated, a girl.

Kate is almost embarrassed by how much she wants to see America Chavez naked.

She’s is curvier than Kate, has hair so black it shines, and is wearing black shoes, black knee length leggings and a blue and red racer-back sports bra. She has coffee coloured skin, needle-sharp eyeliner and her arms are so well defined Kate wants to bite her biceps. She looks sort of angry. Kate realises her mouth is moving.

“Huh?” she says eloquently.

“You’re with me, chica,” America says, rolling her eyes. “And if you can tell me what I just said I might even go easy on you.”

“Um…”

“That’s what I thought. Pay attention, princess, else you’ll get your ass kicked.”

 

Kate’s first self-defence class with America Chavez is an exquisite form of torture. She’s aware that it’s entirely physical, she’s aware that she knows nothing about America Chavez past the fact that she is  _fucking gorgeous_  and probably very good at beating people up, she’s aware that she’s probably in about the worst headspace possible for thinking about a new relationship – even just of the one night stand variety. And Kate’s only ever kissed women, nothing more. This would be brand new territory.

But Kate really wants to kiss America.

 

“I’ve done a stupid thing,” Kate says as soon as she enters the kitchen, finding Clint fighting with the coffee machine. “Also, it’s ten at night, you do not need coffee.”

“You’ve not cornered the market on stupid things,” is Clint’s reply, giving the machine one last whack. She should probably replace that actually. It’s never been the same since David pulled it apart to ‘fix it’. Clint hasn’t quite forgiven him for that yet.

“What’s your stupid thing?”

Clint turns and leans against the counter.

“I took a self-defence class – ”

“That doesn’t sound stupid – ”

“ – and the instructor is hot as fuck.”

“Ah.” The expression on his face is one Kate’s not really seen before, stuck somewhere between pleased and worried. “What’s he like?”

“She,” Kate replies.

“ _Oh_.” The worry bleeds out of his expression. Kate sort of really wants to hug him for that alone. “Okay, what’s she like?”

Kate has to take a moment – both to collect her thoughts on America Chavez into something that isn’t incoherent babbling and to appreciate, for probably the millionth time, how fucking smart five-year-old Kate was for making friends with the shabby kid with the don’t-fuck-with-me expression.

“Okay,” she says, once she’s collected her thoughts. “You know how my tastes and your tastes aren’t really the same except for those times that they are?”

Clint nods.

“This is one of those times.”

Clint’s eyes widen slightly, intrigue painted light over his features.

Clint likes strong, confident women; women he doesn’t think he has a chance with and who know what they want. Past that, he doesn’t really care – though women with great boobs’n’butt make him stupid, which is very funny to watch. His girlfriends have ranged from ‘plain’ Laura, through stripper Cherry (not being rude, she’s actually a stripper now) and Goth-y Wanda (if you can call her a girlfriend), to athletic Jess. And that’s not even counting the multitudes of women Clint slept with in his first year at Culver.

Kate, on the other hand, while definitely liking strong, confident women, is slightly more… discerning. She likes sporty women, women who keep her on her toes, women she has to work for a little. She also happens to think that Latinas and South Asian women are about the most beautiful people on the face of the earth. So.

“She’s like… the Latina space princess of my dreams.”

Clint’s intrigued look morphs into confusion. “What?”

“She’s just  _really attractive_ , Clint.”

“But… space princess?”

“She’s otherworldly and kickass.”

“Which makes her a space princess?”

“Have you learnt nothing from _Star Wars_? Of course it does.”

The coffee machine makes a weird dying noise, signalling that  _something_  has happened and hopefully coffee is the result. Clint gives Kate an over-exaggerated worried look as he turns to grab his mug.

“Are you going back?” he says, taking a big gulp of coffee. And then, “Oh God, this is horrible. We need a new one of these.”

“Of course I’m going back,” Kate says, as if that’s the stupidest question ever. “Space princess  _of my dreams_ , Clint. And I’ll buy a new one tomorrow.”

Clint nods in approval, though Kate doesn’t know if it’s for the new coffee machine or the self-defence class or America Chavez or all three, and takes another big gulp of coffee.

“If it’s horrible, why are you still drinking it?”

“Like I said,” he says, pushing away from the counter and heading for the door, “you’ve not cornered the market on stupid things.”

“But I’ve not finished waxing poetic!” she calls at his retreating back.

 

The next day Kate buys a new coffee machine. Then she looks up America Chavez on Facebook because  _shut up_  and is confronted with a profile photo of America with a red hood up and a lollipop in her mouth, staring at the camera defiantly. It hits Kate somewhere in the chest and she stares at it for a little while entirely unable to form coherent thoughts before taking out her phone and snapchatting Clint a photo of her laptop screen with the words FUCK ME emblazoned over the top.

Clint’s probably working and won’t reply for a while, so Kate continues to snoop.

It looks like a profile set up by a friend. There’s almost nothing there apart from a bunch of tagged photos that all have the same two guys in them – a skinny brunette with serious emo hair and a huge blonde guy who looks somewhere between a bodybuilder and a golden retriever puppy. One of the photos is of the three of them wrapped in a Pride flag and Kate has a horrible lurching hope until she registers that Emo and Blondie are necking like it’s going out of style. So, boyfriends. America is just a friend. And an ally too, which is nice. It would be nicer if she were gay though. Or bi.

Kate’s phone flashes.

_[Stop being a stalker]_  Clint’s text reads.

And then  _[Tho hot damn Katie-Kate. She’s fucking smokin]_

[You were so close to real words] Kate sends back, because razzing on Clint for poor text spelling is tradition. She knows he only does it to her. She’s stolen his phone enough times to find out. [And I know right?]

_[Tap that]_  Clint replies. And then  _[I believe in you]_

 

The problem is, Kate finds, that without having some natural way into the topic, saying, ‘Hi I’m bi and think you’re hella attractive please be interested in women,’ isn’t actually very easy. What’s more, in her next self-defence class America isn’t even there. Hope and Trish run the workshop and Kate’s partnered with Jubilee, who turns out to be an aggressive little bundle of snark which delights Kate no end. But she can’t help the little spark of disappointment at the lack of eye candy and she says as much to Jubilee.

“Ooh, you mean Luke?”

In all honesty, Kate had forgotten about Luke.

“Um, no?”

Jubilee makes another attempt at breaking out of Kate’s grip and only succeeds at tumbling them both onto the mat.

“Who then?” Jubilee asks before realisation breaks across her face. “Oh! You mean the other instructor?”

Her grin is wide and delighted.

“Maybe?”

Jubilee laughs joyfully and claps her hands together. In her neon sportswear, she looks like an excitable twelve-year-old gymnast on a sugar rush. Kate finds her equal parts hilarious and terrifying.

“Amazing! I’m going to set you up.”

She looks utterly thrilled by the idea.

“Why?” Kate asks, simultaneously scared at the prospect and desperate for more information about America. “Do you know her?”

Jubilee shrugs. “I’ve seen her around.”

“Around where?”

Kate closes her hand around Jubilee’s wrist and gets back into position.

“The gym,” Jubilee replies. “And the Sports Sciences department.”

“Of Culver?”

Kate didn’t know Culver had a Sports Sciences department. Jubilee twists, successfully managing to break her grip, and Kate finds herself flat on her back staring up at the greying ceiling tiles.

“Nice work, Jubilee!” Trish calls over everyone’s heads.

Jubilee gives Trish two thumbs up and a grin before holding a hand out to pull Kate up from the mat. “No, at the community college. I’m studying graphic design there.”

“Oh,” Kate says, inanely. She’d forgotten about Willowdale Community College. It’s on the other side of Willowdale, about as far from Culver as you can get, and Kate’s never had any reason to go there. She knows a couple of Anya’s friends study there, but that’s about it. America doesn’t have a New England accent and she’s very far from looking like your regular New Englander, so Kate’s fairly confident in her assumption that she’s not local. She wonders how it is America came to study at an out-of-state community college.

Then something else occurs to her.

“Wait,” she says, frowning at Jubilee. “Do you even know if she’s interested in women?”

“Nope.” Jubilee shrugs, still smiling as she closes her hand around Kate’s wrist. “Your turn.”

In the end, all that Kate takes away from that class is that America Chavez studies at Willowdale Community College and that Jubilee is much better at breaking out of chokeholds than she is. Jubilee says it’s because Kate is distracted, but Kate firmly believes that Jubilee is a little neon ninja and that America Chavez, or the lack of, is not the reason at all. It’s her excuse and she’s sticking with it.

“America wasn’t at class today,” Kate says as she throws herself down on the couch, narrowly missing Clint where he’s playing Skyrim or whatever RPG game he’s chosen today. He gets bored of them easily and they never stick. Mostly he only picks them for the archery options.

“You’ve literally met her once,” Clint points out, not taking his eyes from the TV.

“She fell on top of me twice. It was a life altering experience.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Go be gross somewhere else. I gotta kill a troll.”

Kate squints at the TV, then decides she doesn’t care.

“But Clint,” she whines, pawing at his thigh just to be annoying. “I burn, I pine, I perish.”

“I don’t think that’s even quoted correctly,” Clint replies, managing to kill whatever troll he was aiming for.

“It’s Shakespeare, how the hell would you know?”

Clint pokes her in the side. “Shut up.”

Kate turns on the couch until she can lean on Clint’s thigh and proceeds to critique everything from his playing style to the archery techniques of the background characters until he throws down the controller in annoyance. “Jesus fuck, Katie. What the hell?”

Kate looks up at him from his lap. “Where’s Jess?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Out with Carol and Monica.”

“That good, eh?”

Clint sighs. “Can you not? We’re okay right now. I’m just… Carol’s great, but – well, you know.”

Carol drinks way too much, is what Clint means. Kate pats his knee.

“Do you want to Facebook stalk America with me?”

Clint looks down at her with an incredulous expression.

“What? It’ll cheer me up and you’ll enjoy it because she’s hella attractive. Win win.”

Clint’s silent for a moment before slumping back into the couch cushions.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “But only if we never tell anyone.”

 

Next Monday and America is back at self-defence class, this time with Trish. Kate thinks she’s worked out the pattern now – two weeks on, one week off – and while she likes both Hope and Trish she knows she’s going to be disappointed again when the next America-free Monday rolls around.

Her shoes are red, this time. They look like boxer’s shoes. Maybe she’s a boxer. That would be unreasonably hot.

There’s only five women in class today and odd numbers are Kate’s favourite because that means that America has to pair with someone in order for everyone to have a partner. Unfortunately Trish partners Kate with Jubilee again and America ends up with May, the woman in her sixties. Who turns out not to actually be in her sixties. Having white hair prematurely must suck, even if it makes you look classy as fuck.

And Kate is fine with this –  _she’s fine_  – and she’s absolutely not going to sulk. Not even internally, where no one (read: Jubilee) can mock her. She gets into position and listens carefully to Trish’s instructions, closing her hand over Jubilee’s wrist and only getting a brief moment to collect herself before Jubilee manages to put her on her back. Seriously, that girl is a  _ninja_.

“Okay,” says Jubilee, hands on her hips and a smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. “Clearly I’m too used to how you move or something. America? Excuse me?”

America and May are using the mats next to Kate. It’s great because it means she can ogle America’s ass in her gym shorts – shorts this time! – but it’s also terrible, mostly because of those same shorts. America’s thighs look  _so soft_.

“Yes?” America turns from where she’s adjusting May’s stance.

“Is it alright is I swap with you? I was partnered with Kate last week and I think maybe practicing with someone closer to my height would help give me a better understanding of the basics.”

America raises one perfect eyebrow, her gaze shifting from Kate, lying flat on her back on the mat, over Jubilee in her neon sportswear and finally landing on May, who smiles in a way Kate is not at all comfortable with.

“You do realise that almost anyone who might attack you will probably be taller than you, right?” America points out, turning back to Jubilee.

“But,” argues Jubilee, “getting the basics right will make it easier to translate the skills to those larger than me.”

America doesn’t look convinced. She does, however, look fucking stunning. Kate sort of wants to die.

“Plus,” Jubilee says, in a tone of voice that implies this is the piece de resistance, “Kate’s much less likely to be attacked by tiny guys. It’s good for her too.”

America looks back at May and then, for some reason Kate doesn’t understand, over at Trish who’s watching from over the heads of the last pair of women. Trish gives an amused smile and a shrug, and America scowls.

“Okay, fine. Remember to keep your centre of gravity low,” she says to May as she moves to stand over Kate. She then holds out her hand. “C’mon, chica. Less lying around, more fighting.”

Kate glares at Jubilee as soon as America’s not looking but Jubilee, the awful person that she is, just grins back. What’s worst, so does May. Apparently Kate is really fucking obvious.

“Hey!” America snaps her fingers in front of Kate’s face in a way that Kate finds both pretty annoying and also kinda attractive. Or maybe it’s just America’s annoyed face that she finds attractive. Or maybe just America’s face. You know, maybe. “Pay attention.”

So they go through the whole thing; America curls her hand around Kate’s wrist and tries to restrain her, and Kate tries to throw her off. ‘Tries’ being the operative word here, because Kate can feel America’s breasts pressing into her back, and the heat of America’s skin all down the length of her body, and America’s breath ghosting over the back of her neck. It’s very distracting.

To the surprise of no one at all, Kate is worse at this whole thing when partnered with America than she is when sneaking glances at America. Whoever would have guessed?

“Princess,” America snaps. “Pay attention.”

One neatly trimmed nail pokes Kate in the arm and she turns to glare at America, though the effect is lessened somewhat by the fact that one, Kate can’t be pissed off when confronted with that face and two, America’s pissed off glare is way better than her own.

“You absolutely can do this,” America says, sounding both annoyed and exasperated.

“How you do know?” Kate replies slightly petulantly. America wasn’t here last week and the week before was literally the first day of class. America’s had almost no time to determine that.

“Because you’re seriously packing.” She pokes Kate in the arm again. “What the hell do you do?”

“Archery,” Kate replies, because she might as well be honest and the honest answer comes more easily than any lie she could concoct under the immense pressure of having America feel up her biceps.

“Huh,” says America, poking Kate’s arm again before realising that they didn’t really know each other all that well and snatching her hand away.

She looks up at Kate with challenging expression that Kate immediately decides she needs to see, oh, maybe every day of her life. “If you can’t throw me down on the mat at least once before the end of the class I’m going to judge you so hard, princess.”

Kate stares at her for a moment, trying to work out whether or not that constitutes as flirting.

“Come on, chica,” America says, smirking. “Hit me.”

 

“Clint,” Kate whines, searching through the house before finding him just coming out of the bathroom. “Clint this is the worst.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t know what to  _do_.”

Kate grabs at Clint’s shoulders and shakes him. She knows she’s being over dramatic and ridiculous, but she’d managed to throw America off a couple of times during the class and had ended up with America lying on top of her no fewer than three times. And then America had  _smirked_  and Kate had wanted to kiss her so bad she wasn’t really sure what to do with the feeling. She must have looked  _so stupid_. How the hell do you flirt with girls?

“About what?” Clint asks, because Clint is a fucking idiot and hasn’t been paying attention to the fifty million texts, snapchats, and WhatsApp messages Kate has sent in the past week extolling the many virtues of America Chavez. Not that Kate  _knows_  many of America’s virtues because she’s only actually met her twice, but that’s  _really_  not the point.

“ _America!_ ” Kate exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. “How do you flirt with girls? I have no idea what to do! I don’t even know if she’s interested in women!”

Clint is frowning at her like she’s not making sense.

“Don’t you ever listen to me?” Kate says, annoyed by Clint’s apparent complete lack of interest in her problems. She makes a frustrated sound and stalks off into the front room to throw herself, admittedly  _very_  overdramatically, onto the couch.

“Of course I fucking listen to you,” Clint calls after her. She can hear him follow her in and sit on the coffee table, facing her. “America is God’s gift to mankind,” Clint’s impression of her is both terrible and  _wrong_. “She has the softest thighs ever, I want to bury my face between her legs.”

Kate makes a strangled sound of protest. She’s  _never_  said that. Out loud.

“Oh shut up,” Clint waves her away. “I know you. That’s not what I find weird.”

“Is it ‘cause she’s a girl?”

And now Kate’s just being mean, because Clint’s  _never_  taken issue with the fact that she’s bi.

“What the fuck, Katie? No!” Clint sounds properly annoyed now. “Of course it’s fucking not. What’s  _weird_  is you freaking out. What the hell does it matter that she’s a girl? Flirt with her like you’d flirt with anyone else. You don’t change you because of this. You’re – oh my God.”

Clint cuts himself off, clenching his fists.

“What?” Kate mumbles into the couch cushion.

“I’m going to fucking kill Jack,” he snarls, vehemence curling around his words and making them stronger, harsher.

Kate jerks upright. “What the fuck? Where has this come from?”

“I’m gonna – you’re awesome, alright?” There’s a fierceness in his tone that Kate wasn’t expecting. “Just ‘cause he was a dick who didn’t get it doesn’t mean that there’s… There’s nothing  _wrong_  with you, okay? There’s nothing wrong with being bi and there’s nothing wrong with you being attracted to this girl, or any girl. Fuck Jack for making you think otherwise.”

“He didn’t – ” she starts, curling back in on herself slightly. She hates that she does it and she hates the slightly sad look Clint gives her as she does it. She uncurls slightly, turning to lie on the couch properly.

“Yeah, Katie. He did.” Clint still looks angry, but there’s sadness and resignation creeping in too now. “Because you were totally into Karolina Dean in high school, even if you didn’t do anything about it, and orchestra practice was mostly an excuse to flirt with Nico Minoru, and at no point did you come to me worried about how to flirt with girls. Though,” he continues, his expression clearing somewhat, a small smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, “the fact that you come to me for that kind of advice shows there’s  _something_  wrong with you.”

Kate snorts, pulling the cushion from under her and whacking him,  _hard_. He flails inelegantly in order to avoid the worst of it, but still ends up with a cushion to the face.

“Seriously though,” Clint says, as she hugs the cushion to her chest, grinning at him. “You like this girl, so just go for it. The worst she can do is say no.”

“She can also punch me pretty hard.”

He shrugs. “So punch her back.”

“I wouldn’t want to wreck that face. Plus,” Kate raises an eyebrow, “that’s terrible advice.”

Clint grins. “I don’t see you going to anyone else.”

“Because apparently I have terrible taste.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

Clint’s joking when he says this, or means it as a joke, but it always makes her chest hurt, because he’s also not really joking. Or he says it all the time to give Kate the opportunity to say no, that she’ll dump him, leave him behind, because he’s always expecting that to happen. Under all her own confusion, she can feel the ever-present need to get up and shake him. To yell that no, it’s not her who’s stuck with him, it’s him who’s stuck with her. That there isn’t anything he could do that would make her abandon him.

But that’s always a futile wish. He doesn’t believe words, never has; actions are more important. She’ll prove herself correct by not leaving and eventually he’ll believe her.

“You wanna watch a movie?”

Kate snaps back into the here and now, scrubbing a hand over her face and stretching out on the couch. Worrying about Clint makes a nice break from worrying about herself. And a movie might distract her even better.

“Yeah, okay.”

But, because Kate’s life is stupid at the moment, she has no such luck.

Clint puts on  _The Mummy_  because  _The Mummy_  is brilliant, but Kate pays very little attention to it. Visions of America’s skin keep drifting into her head; her sweat-slicked collarbones, her soft thighs, her toned abs. And maybe Clint is right. Maybe she’s overthinking this. Maybe she should just go up to her, make some innuendo-laden comment, get chatting, and actually learn something about her instead of just making stuff up. Because that’s sort of what she’s been doing. She’s met America twice, sparring with her (badly) for about three hours total, and while they chatted idly during those three hours Kate doesn’t remember much of it, too distracted by America’s smile, or her hands, or the way her shoulder blades move under her skin. But what she does remember makes her smile, which bodes well for a friendship if nothing else. It doesn’t make her crush any less though.

She groans and shoves her face back into the couch cushions. God, and it's a crush as well. How embarrassing.

“Stop moping,” Clint snaps, not taking his eyes from the TV. “She’s a person, treat her like one.”

“Do I need to remind you about Laura?” Kate replies mulishly.

“I was fifteen. You’re nineteen. There’s a difference. Now stop moping, I can’t hear Brendan Fraser.”

“You can’t  _hear_  me moping,” Kate says petulantly.

Clint turns to look at her and his entire expression says  _I fucking well can_.

 

For the next week Kate tries as best she can to not freak out about America. ‘Cause for once, Clint is probably right, though that doesn’t stop the anxiety. And it works, sort of. David, Eli and Anya drag her out to see _The Breakfast Club_ , which their local theatre is showing for no reason she can work out but _hello_ , yes of course she’s going, and Kamala plies her with Pakistani sweets and introduces her to Bollywood films, which are baffling but also sort of fabulous.

But then Jess and Carol come over one night. Clint and Jess are being couple-y in their own weird way, where they seem to really like each other despite bickering and arguing all the time, and Kate suddenly realises that she _wants that._ She wants that ease and camaraderie and respect. She doesn’t think she’s ever had that in any of her previous relationships – and certainly not with… _him._ He Who Must Not Be Named But Maybe Punched In The Face A Couple Of Times If Clint is To Be Believed (And He Is In This Instance).

Or maybe she did, when she finally plucked up the courage and asked Noah Varr out. But that was ages ago and the five years between fourteen and nineteen see more change than probably any other five years of your life. She and Noah mostly just pissed around in playgrounds and under 21 night clubs, they didn’t  _talk_.

Not, she admits, that she thinks Jess and Clint talk. Clint’s practically  _allergic_. But it’s adult, sort of, in a way that Kate realises she’s not had before and really wants. And maybe America will turn out to be a moron, or straight, or any number of things that mean that she and Kate won’t work, but hey. She won’t find out if she doesn’t try, and she can’t try if she’s being a ridiculous, stuttering mess about the whole thing.

Plus, if Clint can have a semi-adult relationship then she  _totally_  can, because she is no more of a disaster than Clint Barton. In fact, she’s probably less of one, if only by a small margin.

Thanks to this stellar line of argument, which she is never going to inform Clint of even though he’d agree with her – or maybe  _because of_  that fact – by the time Monday rolls around again Kate feels more confident in her ability to maintain composure in the face of America Chavez. Even better, America has decided to help by wearing below-the-knee running leggings, boxing shoes, and a racerback tank. There’s a lot less  _skin_. Kate would be embarrassed by how much that helps except for the fact that it does and  _she needs that_.

Kate’s paired with May this time and she’s only a  _little_  jealous that Jubilee is paired with America. Or at least she’s mostly fine until they start joking around. America  _smiles_. It’s so distracting May manages to flip her no problem.

“You need to talk to that girl,” May says, helping Kate up from the mat, “or else the unresolved sexual tension will kill us all.”

“What?” says Kate, dumbfounded.

“It’s ‘excuse me’,” May says, “and you heard me fine.” She’s smiling in a very knowing way, which is completely unfair considering that Kate’s only met her four times.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Denial. Denial is Kate’s best friend. By which she means it’s not but, seriously, people she’s only met four times should not be able to tell that Kate’s crushing hard on her self-defence instructor. Kate is not supposed to be this obvious.

“Please,” scoffs May. “You’re as subtle as a brick.”

Hope yells some new instructions and May breaks off her – entirely unfair – assessment of Kate’s pining, the two of them switching to a new grip and stance. Kate hears America laugh at something someone says and she feels it to her bones.

“She checks out your ass,” May says conspiratorially, leaning in and smirking like no woman her age should.

Her gaze snaps to May’s, who nods like her job is done. “Just talk to her.”

She then smiles again, completely guileless, and flips Kate onto the mat. Kate gets her own back though and the rest of the class passes enjoyably, both because Kate can tell she’s getting better and because Hope and America go through the group adjusting grips and stances and generally encouraging everyone. America adjusts Kate’s stance by wrapping warm hands around her knee and physically moving her leg. May smirks and, to Kate’s horror, so does Hope.  _Seriously_ , Kate is  _not_  supposed to be this obvious.

At the end of class Jubilee grabs Kate as she heads for the changing rooms. “Me, America, May and Ana are going for drinks,” she says, her sweaty hair sticking to her forehead. “You should come.”

“What about Colleen?” Kate asks. She would have expected Colleen to come, at least more so than Ana. “And Hope?” She steadfastly tries to ignore the swoopy feeling in her stomach at the mention of America.

“Previous plans,” Jubilee says dismissively. “And Hope still has a gym to run. Now go, get changed.”

So Kate throws on a shirt and jeans, grabs her coat, and emerges from the changing rooms with May to find Ana quietly chatting to America, who’s wearing black skinny jeans, heavy biker boots, an overlarge Mexican soccer shirt, and a denim jacket. Her ass looks amazing, causing Kate to trail off mid-sentence and May to snort and pat her on the shoulder. Because May is awful.

“So where are we going?” America asks Jubilee as they approach.

She looks kind of pissed off but then she always looks pissed off at something. Then her gaze slides off Jubilee and onto Kate for a moment before she looks away and Kate has the horrible idea that may be America is pissed off  _at her_. She’s so preoccupied by this train of thought that she misses Jubilee’s answer and misses everyone leaving the gym and it’s only when America calls, “Princess, are you coming?” that she snaps back into the present.

America is smiling at her, sort of. So maybe she’s just being stupid.

They end up at Josie’s, which Kate likes because it’s the kind of bar that Clint would never set foot in and, as such, is the kind she hasn’t been in for a long time. It smells strongly of stale alcohol, but in a way that’s comforting rather than overpowering. The five of them look slightly out of place – being a Monday night it’s only the hard core drinkers that are out in force – but the woman behind the bar smiles at them and the seats and tables are clean.

They take a corner booth; America, Jubilee, and Kate on one side and Ana and May on the other. But Jubilee is a little shit and suddenly decides she needs the toilet, forcing Kate to move and, when she comes back, makes her scoot over almost into America’s lap. Kate gives Jubilee a death glare while May smirks.

America drinks Sam Adams by the bottle. Kate finds this unreasonably cool.

“…but it’s super competitive, so I don’t know. How about you, Kate?”

Kate tears away her gaze from where it’s fixed on America’s fingers curled around her bottle. “Sorry, what?”

Jubilee rolls her eyes. “What are you hoping to do after college?”

“Oh.” Kate drags her thoughts away from America. “Well, I’ve applied for the International Development Masters programme at Culver and I want to write about either gendered development, maybe in South East Asia, or about foreign aid. You know,” she waves her hand slightly dismissively, “how it’s used, if it’s worth it, and how various countries feel about it. And then maybe work for USAID or the UNDP. Or some big development NGO.”

There’s a stunned sort of silence and Kate suddenly becomes aware of the fact that out of all them she’s the only one at Culver. She’s fairly sure Ana is a travel agent and she knows that May works for a homeless shelter. Maybe they were talking about regular person jobs and the dreams of people who aren’t brought up in mansions. Internally, Kate berates herself for not paying attention. She’s probably just made herself out to be some kind of snobby high-flying wannabe.

And then, “That is  _so cool_ ,” Jubilee says in her usual overenthusiastic way, but Kate hardly notices because America snorts and, with an amused expression on her face, she says, “So you’re gonna save the world, eh chica?”

Kate shrugs. “Aim high, right?”

America smiles in return, but it’s a complicated smile and Kate can’t read it properly.

“And hey,” Kate continues flippantly, “if that fails, I can always teach bratty kids archery, right?”

America’s smile smooths out into something less complicated. “Are you disparaging my chosen profession?”

Her tone is teasing and Kate loves it. “I don’t think so, why? What’s your chosen profession?”

“Teaching bratty adults self-defence.” She gives Kate a pointed look and grins wide when Kate pouts.

“Well, that was uncalled for.”

“Oh I don’t know.” America takes a long swallow of her Sam Adams and Kate really,  _really_  wants to bite her collar bones. “Seems pretty fitting to me.”

To Kate’s delight America is funny and interesting, and she becomes less and less self-conscious as the evening wears on, managing to hold conversations that  _aren’t_  interspersed with exclamations of ‘oh my God I want to touch you so bad’ even though her brain is screaming it almost constantly. She’s kind of proud of herself really.

She hardly notices the time and it’s only when everyone starts getting ready to leave at around ten thirty that she remembers that she has lecture tomorrow, and also that Clint is probably wondering what the hell has happened to her.

She checks her phone as they collect their bags and coats and finds that Clint has indeed texted her. Almost two hours ago. Shit.

_[Hot girl didn’t actually punch you out did she?]_  and then, a little later  _[No seriously Katie, where are you?]_

[Sorry sorry, went out for drinks with the gang] she shoots back immediately, cringing slightly, her fingers slightly clumsier than usual thanks to the alcohol. She hates that he worries about her. Hates that he feels he has to.

“Boyfriend?” America asks as she holds the door for Kate, who’s trailing behind. Kate starts ever so slightly at the question before snorting.

“Clint? Hell no. That boy is a fucking disaster.” She’s smiling as she says it though. “Best friend since elementary.”

“And you ended up going to college together,” America says with a perfectly raised eyebrow. “That’s quite the friendship. I don’t think I’m in touch with anyone from high school, let alone elementary.”

“Well, he was the only one who really talked to me. And I’m stubborn and angry and he’s stubborn and angry. We were stubborn and angry together.”

They walk to the corner of Hamilton South and Twickenham where May and Ana head back to the gym and May’s car. Jubilee, in her usual enthusiastic manner, gives everyone a hug before heading back to her place somewhere behind the community college campus. She gives Kate a thumbs up and a wink from behind America’s back. Kate sticks her tongue out at her.

“You were bullied at school?” America asks once they’ve gone and it’s just the two of them left standing slightly awkwardly on the corner. Her tone doesn’t exactly convey sympathy, but it sounds pretty close.

“Not exactly,” Kate replies, hoping America will just drop it and she won’t have to explain that she grew up in a magical Disney palace (as Clint calls it sometimes) with more money than God and a mom who thought going to public schools would make her daughters more well-rounded individuals. But America looks at her like she expects her to continue and Kate finds herself elaborating against her better judgement.

“I was the rich kid at the shitty public school whose mom thought not going private would help keep her kids grounded.” Kate avoids America’s gaze. “It wasn’t terrible and when mom gave me and Susan the option to go private for middle school I declined. But mostly because of Clint.” She snorts. “I would probably have made more friends if I hadn’t made friends with Clint first.”

“Why?”

America’s voice is softer now and Kate looks up to find her stood a little closer than she was expecting.

Kate shrugs. “‘Cause kids are judgemental fucks is why,” she replies, not really wanting to get into it. She’s discovered the hard way that telling people about Clint’s background one, leads to most people judging them both before they bother getting to know either of them and two, the one time she did resulted in her being on the receiving end of a betrayed expression she never, ever,  _ever_  wants to see on Clint’s face again.

There’s a faintly awkward silence.

“Well,” America says after a moment, “we’re a judgement free zone.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“I – Hope’s?” America trips over herself slightly like that wasn’t what she meant to say.

“Or a royal ‘we’?” Kate says with a small smile and America looks faintly embarrassed.

“Something like that.”

 

Somehow, Jubilee has managed to get hold of Kate’s number.

_[Please tell me something fabulous happened last night.]_

_[You should name your first child after me.]_

_[Jubilee Chavez. Jubilee Bishop. Jubilee Chavez-Bishop]_

_[Bishop-Chavez?]_

_[Jubilee Bishop is actually not half bad.]_

_[Make it happen girl, I believe in you!]_

The string of texts greets Kate when she gets up the next morning and she is in no way able to deal with them. Clint and Jess had been home when she’d got in and they’d ended up watching a bunch of  _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ episodes, Clint and Jess practically puppy-piled on the couch. They’d ended up going to bed way later than planned and Kate is definitely regretting it now, even if it was fun; Clint badmouthing everyone just so he could laugh at Jess’ outraged expressions. But it’s way too early in the morning for Jubilee’s enthusiasm.

And on top of that Kate had to be an idiot during archery with Clint before her class yesterday and insist that she could totally draw his bow. Her shoulders are _killing her_. Plus, you know, hangover. Not _bad_ , but certainly there.

[Nothing happened.] she texts back. Which she then follows up with, [And I’m not naming my children after you. You’re not that special.]

And clearly Jubilee is far too awake this morning because she immediately texts  _[Rude. You love me.]_

Kate rolls her eyes and fumbles her way into the kitchen in search of coffee. She should have got  _America’s_  number, that’s what she should have done. Waiting for Mondays to roll around is absolutely not working for Kate. Especially seeing as she won’t even be there this coming Monday, as it’s Trish and Hope’s turn this time.  _Urgh_.

Kate drops her head down onto the kitchen table harder than intended and groans out loud. Even worse, she got up before Clint, so there’s no coffee waiting for her. Everything’s craptacular. America turns out to be awesome, Kate fails to get her number, she doesn’t know where she lives, and she won’t see her for another two weeks. She didn’t even manage to find out if America is interested in women. Up to now, she hadn’t quite realised the extent of her idiocy, but boy has it hit her like a ton of bricks.

Kate hears someone walk into the room.

“Everything’s shit,” she mumbles to the wood of the table.

“Sorry?” comes Jess’ voice, sounding confused and not very awake. And crap, Kate thought it was Clint.

“Oh, nothing,” Kate backtracks, raising her head. “I’m just an idiot. Are you making coffee?”

“Why, are you incapable?” Jess replies half-heartedly, already making her way towards the coffee machine.

“Of so many things,” Kate laments in the most pathetic tone she can manage and Jess snorts.

They’re silent then, Jess plonking a mug of coffee down in front of her before sitting down with her at the table with her own cup of tea and staring, unseeing, into the middle-distance. There are no morning people in this house; wonderfully illustrated by Clint, who shambles into the kitchen not five minutes later, probably drawn by the smell of coffee and  _definitely_  ignoring everyone until he’s had at least two mugs. Jess smiles at him and he ruffles her hair just to be annoying.

Kate’s phone buzzes against the table and Clint glares at her.

_[Did you at least get her number]_  asks Jubilee.

Kate groans out loud again and mutters, “Fuck  _off_ , Jubilee,” as she types out, [No].

_[I’m gonna get you her number]_  Jubilee replies immediately and Kate thunks her head down on the table again.

“Are you okay?” Jess asks, because Clint clearly isn’t awake enough to.

“Just peachy,” Kate grouches. She glares at her phone a little more before deciding she should really do something more productive with her day than alternate between self-loathing and pining, and Jess and Clint will have to leave for class soon anyway.

“Urgh. Okay, I’m going to shower.” Maybe that’ll make her shoulders hurt less too.

It doesn’t, and three hours later the library isn’t really doing much for her either; most of the books she needs have already been checked out by other people on her course, her shoulders hurt _even more_ now, and she kind of wants to beat her head against a wall. Plus David, the fucker, showed up two hours in to inform her that he’s already finished all the course requirements for this semester and did she want to go see a Transformers movie with him because he was bored?

Which, fucking _no_ , but that doesn’t mean she ends up doing anything productive either. Which is why she finds herself wandering around a part of Culver she’s never been to before in the freezing cold because hey, that book shop looks fun and then there’s an interesting Indian textiles shop next to it and she just ends up getting further and further away from anywhere she recognises until –

“Hey chica, what brings you here?”

Fucking hell, America Chavez.

She’s wearing a red, fur lined bomber jacket covered in patches, looking all snuggly and warm, and Kate briefly contemplates just linking arms with her and pressing against her side and pretending that this was her plan all along. But then Kate notices the take away coffee cup.

“Oh my God, where did you get that?”

America raises one perfect eyebrow before gesturing down the street to a place called Magic Beans. It looks so pretentiously hipster Kate almost balks.

“My friend Billy works there,” is all America says.

“Oh man,” Kate starts walking towards it faster than she initially intended. But man, she didn’t know how much she wanted coffee until America turned up with some. “I need coffee so bad.”

“I can see that,” America replies, trailing after her like a mother indulging a particularly wilful child.

“Shut up, the library was fucking balls today and then David was a smug prick and it’s _fucking freezing_.”

She pushes open the door and immediately inhales that glorious scent of freshly ground coffee beans.

“Is David your boyfriend?” America asks.

“Ha, no.” Kate makes her way over to the counter. “Large black coffee, please. Extra shot.”

The guy behind the counter has an emo fringe of epic proportions and a rather scary dedication to space themed clothing. He looks vaguely familiar, but it’s only when his eyes slide over her and land on America who’s standing to her left that she twigs that this is the same guy from America’s Facebook photos.

“Back so soon?” he says to America after nodding an acknowledgement of Kate’s order. America shrugs.

“Bumped into a friend going through severe caffeine withdrawal and decided to lend a hand.”

The guy behind the counter gives her a knowing look from where he’s wrestling with the huge coffee machine. Clint would fucking love one of those. “Yeah, sure. Because you’re that altruistic.”

“Shut up, Billy.”

“So which one are you?” Billy asks as he passes Kate her order.

“One of what?”

“Well, I’m guessing you’re from America’s gym because I already know all her friends.” He waves a hand in America’s direction, an impish smile on his face. “She doesn’t have many, see?”

“Fuck off, Kaplan,” America interjects, looking pissed. But then America always looks some level of pissed. Kate’s already decided that one, it’s akin to a resting bitch face and doesn’t actually have much bearing on how America actually feels and two, it’s hot as fuck, so what does she care?

“I’m Kate,” she mumbles around the rim of her coffee cup. Aah, sweet elixir of life. For a pretentious hipster café, their coffee isn’t half bad. She’ll have to remember this place.

“Oh _are_ you now?” Billy says in a way that Kate completely doesn’t understand. “In that case, it’s on the house.” He waves away Kate’s money.

“Really?” Kate says, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, sure. Any friend of America’s is a friend of mine and all that jazz.” He gives America a look, the significance of which is completely lost on Kate even if America immediately scowls.

“Because you’re that altruistic.”

“You know me, Chavez,” Billy says with a grin. “The model of altruism.”

America snorts and, apparently choosing to ignore Billy from now on, turns to Kate. “You wanna sit?”

Kate nods in response and America leads Kate over to some battered armchairs by the partially fogged up windows, where she proceeds to strip off her bomber jacket to reveal that she’s wearing a black crop top and fucking dungarees. Which Kate didn’t think was a thing for her but apparently really fucking is because holy crap, Kate has never felt so preppy in her life, with her purple pea coat, brown leather boots and grey jumper, and her best friend is  _Clint Barton_. Jesus.

“So what brings you out this way?” Kate asks, deciding that Clint is right (shock horror) and she should just act like a semi-functioning adult and talk to America like she’s a person.

“I live out this way, princess,” America answers, giving Kate what she  _thinks_  might be a flirty smile. But then everything America seems to do is flirty so Kate isn’t really sure if that just America’s  _thing_  or if it’s a Kate-related thing.

“Oh,” Kate says uselessly and she’s really not usually this bad. Really, she isn’t. It’s just… America is so  _cool_  and Kate doesn’t really know what to say to her.

America rolls her eyes, but its fond as well as mocking. “You’re good at this, aren’t you chica?” She leans back and folds her arms, smiling slightly. “My turn. Where’d you learn archery? Not your usual sport.”

“School,” Kate says, and then find she’s not sure how to elaborate on that.

America raises her eyebrow like she’s expecting Kate to continue, but Kate just flounders for a second before sighing and rubbing her forehead.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’ve been a little off lately” – because of you – “because of” – and Jack – “ _reasons_ , and I feel a little all over the place. I’m usually better at the whole ‘having proper human conversations’ thing.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried my class did in fact consist only of middle-aged women and pretty but vapid college girls.”

Kate frowns at that. “Jubilee isn’t vapid,” she says, disregarding herself completely in this and annoyed on behalf of her friend while simultaneously disappointed that America may not, in fact, be half as awesome as she’d been lead to believe. Multitasking. Kate has _skills_.

“Jubilee is candyfloss,” America replies with a wave of her hand.

“Now hold on,” Kate snaps, anger cutting through her anxiety about talking to America. “Just because you might not like her doesn’t mean that she’s dumb. She’s a smart lady who must have worked damn hard to end up where she is and she deserves more respect from you than to be called ‘candyfloss’.” Kate’s fingers curl around the word derisively.

“Oh good, you can speak in full sentences without the aid of alcohol. I was starting to worry.”

America tone is teasing and she’s smirking, sly and pleased. Kate gapes at her.

“And for the record, I think Jubilee is sweet; terrifyingly enthusiastic, but sweet. And  _not_  in a candyfloss sort of way.”

“You are such a jerk!” Kate exclaims, indignant, leaning over the table to punch her on the arm. America laughs delightedly – shying from her reach so, at the most, Kate only gazes her shoulder – and the sound makes Kate’s stomach swoop. “ _Such_  a jerk.”

“And you’re ridiculous,” she replies, still grinning.

Kate huffs and sits back, trying not to look too sappily at America and probably not doing all that well. She reaches for her coffee in an attempt to hide her smile but, just as her hand closes around the cup, her shoulder twinges. Kate jerks and lets out a pained hiss, flexing her hand and rotating her shoulder until the pain disappears.

“Are you okay?” and oh my God, America’s concerned face is doing all kinds of terrible things to Kate’s stomach.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kate says, giving her shoulder one more experimental rotating before picking up her coffee again. “I used Clint’s bow yesterday, because I’m an idiot, and then spent about three hours all crunched up in the library. My shoulders hate me now.”

America frowns. “What’s wrong with Clint’s bow?”

“Oh, it’s a heavier poundage.”

There’s a brief moment where America looks at her as if waiting for Kate to explain just _what the hell she means_ before Kate realises that ‘poundage’ is a word you _have_ to explain or else everything just sounds dirty.

“A heavier draw!” she clarifies, in a more panicked tone that she’d like. “He’s stronger than me so his bow has a heavier draw and that’s called poundage and… I’ll shut up now.”

America laughs again and stands, and Kate has a horrible moment of fear that America’s getting up to _leave_ but she just walks around until she’s stood directly behind her. “Well,” she says, and wow, America’s voice all husky and up-close is definitely something Kate could get used to, “that’s something I can help with. Move your hair.”

Kate does and suddenly America’s thumbs are digging in either side of her spine. It’s kind of pretty painful, but on the other hand _America is touching her_.

“No molesting customers, Chavez!” Billy yells from behind the counter and Kate is sure that half the people in the place turn to look at them. It’s a good job her hair has fallen in front of her face; her expression is probably being _very clear_ about how much she’s enjoying this.

“Shut up, Kaplan!” America yells back.

“Bite me,” Billy replies, and Kate snorts.

“Don’t encourage him,” America warns. “He is, in fact, a terrible person.”

Kate laughs again, but then America’s fingers find a particularly sore spot and the laugh trails off into a groan.

“Oh man, I thought this was supposed to be relaxing?” Kate grouches.

“No,” America says shortly. “Massage therapy is supposed to be relaxing. Sports massages are painful as fuck but actually make you better after. And I thought you were sporty? Surely if you’re an archer you should have got past the ‘everything hurts’ stage.”

“Okay, one,” Kate says, trying to drink her coffee with her head tilted forward. It’s not that easy. “I used Clint’s bow which shows that I’m both stubborn and stupid, and two, I am in fact very lazy.”

“You do archery, self-defence and have a gym membership. I call bullshit.”

“How do you know I have a gym membership?”

“Kate, the membership is _with my gym_.” Kate can hear her exasperation.

“Oh yeah.” It’s also a good job _America_ can’t see her face. “Well that doesn’t change the fact that using Clint’s bow was stupid and stubborn.”

“Why stubborn?”

“Clint said I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t?”

“Not like, ‘don’t touch my bow’,” Kate clarifies, because she’ll be damned if someone gets the wrong impression of Clint from her. “More like ‘don’t be an idiot, I have crazy arm muscles and practice archery like it’s going out of style, of course I can draw way more than you’.”

“And does he have crazy arm muscles?”

America suddenly digs into Kate’s shoulders again, and Kate has to grimace and _not_ whine in pain for a moment before replying.

“Well, he’s pulling forty-eight pounds because he’s an overachiever so yeah, pretty crazy arm muscles. I’m kind of jealous.”

“And you?”

“Oh, I managed his forty-eight. Eventually.”

“No,” America says patiently, “I mean, how much can you draw?”

“ _Oh_.” America suddenly takes her hands off Kate and she feels the loss to her bones. “I have a thirty and a thirty-four pound bow. Mostly I use the thirty-four, but the thirty is there for the days I’m feeling particularly lazy.”

“So you went from thirty-four to forty-eight?” America sits back down and picks up her, probably pretty cold by now, coffee. “Yeah, you’re an idiot.”

“Hey,” Kate says, smiling. “You’re not meant to make fun of me for my bad life choices.”

“Oh but chica, you make it so easy.”

 

Kate returns to her place feeling much better, with her shoulders not hurting and America Chavez’ number programmed into her phone under DREAM LATINA SPACE PRINCESS. Obviously, America didn’t choose that name. Kate may have changed it as soon as she rounded the corner, but there were no witnesses and therefore she’ll deny it.

Clint’s sitting on the couch when she gets in, his bike upside down on the coffee table so he can fiddle with the gears.

“You can’t do that at work?” she says as soon as she sees him.

“I need it before Saturday,” Clint replies around the whatever-it-is in his mouth.

“Well whatever.” Kate shoves her phone into his face. “Look!”

Clint squints at the screen and then up at her. “Congratulations,” he says, deadpan. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Shut up. I can also do this.” Kate raises her arms above her head and her shoulders don’t hurt _at all_.

Clint rolls his eyes. “I fucking _told you_.”

“Yes,” Kate concedes with a grin, lowering her arms, “but without it I would never have got a massage from America Chavez. It was beautiful.”

“And I’m sure that was your plan all along.”

Kate exits the room backwards, smirking and with both her middle fingers up. “Shut _up_ , Clint.”

 

Over the next couple of days Kate texts little observations and comments to America whenever they occur to her. Things like ‘seriously your hands are magical’ and ‘tell Eli concussions aren’t cool’. She doesn’t get much in the way of replies – though the text about Eli gets back ‘don’t date idiots who think concussions are cool’ to which Kate replies ‘I’m not’ – but as she’s texting America about as much as she’s texting everyone else (apart from Clint who’s shit for that kind of thing) she doesn’t feel like she’s being too ridiculous.

But then she makes the mistake of inviting people over on Friday night and ‘people’ includes Jubilee, who proceeds to tell _everyone_ about her crush on America, which Kate had managed to keep _very quiet_ by virtue of only telling Clint. As a result, she’s very happy she decided against inviting America. Not because she didn’t want to, but because David is, in fact, a terrible person, and him and Jubilee together was always going to be a bad idea and Kate can only deal with one disaster at a time.

“So, who is this Princess Sparkle Fists?”

Kate rolls her eyes at David as Jubilee laughs. “She’s not Princess Sparkle Fists.”

“Carol is,” Kamala cuts in.

Derailed for a moment, Kate turns to look at her. “Carol? Why Carol?”

Kamala looks kind of embarrassed and kind of not. “Have you _seen_ her punch out guys in bars?”

“No,” Kate says slowly. “When have you?”

Kamala doesn’t go to bars. Kamala and Clint are the only two people Kate knows who don’t drink, which you think would make them the two people least likely to hang out with Carol. But Carol can be very persuasive. Plus, she is kind of awesome, even if she’s a fucking disaster sometimes. But then again, aren’t they all?

And now Kamala looks embarrassed. “Um… she – she punched this guy who was harassing my friend Nakia about her hijab…?”

David squints a little. “You took your friend Nakia to a campus bar?”

“She’d come over from Pakistan,” Kamala mumbles. “I was giving her the American experience.”

“Which includes bar fights?” Eli asks.

Kamala shrugs and Kate stares at her a little more before deciding to just let it drop. “Anyway, no. She’s just one of my gym instructors.”

“With a great ass,” Jubilee adds. “Kate stares at her like she’s wants to eat her alive.”

“I do not,” she protests, weak even to her own ears.

Jubilee gives her a very unimpressed look. “Yes, you do. It’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed _for_ you.”

“Well, _you_ almost choked on your tongue when Luke came in the last week.”

Luke had stopped by with the same blond guy who had so unnerved Kate her first time at Hope’s and Kate had been paying so much attention to said blond guy that it had taken her a moment to notice how Jubilee had been watching Luke like she wanted to climb him like a tree. It’s sort of hilarious seeing as Jubilee comes up to the bottom of Luke’s ribcage _at the most_.

“Luke is a fine specimen of a man and _you_ , as an out and proud bisexual, should totally see that fact.”

Kate pulls a face that very clearly says _I guess you have a point but he’s no America_ and Jubilee rolls her eyes.

“Does this America know you’re bi?” Eli asks, from around the neck of his shitty Coors Lite, easily ignoring Jubilee’s love-in for Luke.

There’s a brief, very awkward silence.

“At least tell me that you know this America is interested in girls,” David says after a moment, his exasperated tone making it very clear that he knows she doesn’t.

Kate hides behind her glass of wine.

“Oh my God,” David groans, tipping over into the couch cushions – rather overdramatically in Kate’s opinion. “You’re the worst.”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Sure it is!” David waves his beer dismissively, before taking a swig. “You go up to her and say, ‘Hi, I’m Kate and I’m bi, wanna neck?’ Easy as.”

“That’s never worked,” Eli says laughing.

“Fuck off, yes it has. You remember that Tommy guy?”

“Yeah?”

“‘Hi, I’m David and I’m bi, wanna neck?’” David holds out his hand like he’s offering to shake an invisible guy’s hand. “Cue excellent bendy sex.”

They all stare at David, who rolls his eyes. “Well, where the fuck did you think I’d gone?”

And, thank fuck, David’s adventures with ‘that Tommy guy’ derail the ‘interrogate Kate about her terrible attempts at flirting with girls’ line of questioning and Kate is free to glare at Jubilee in peace. She just grins and (apparently) becomes best friends with David. Because she is the worst.

 

Kate has resigned herself to the fact that today will be an America-less self-defence class and she’s fine with that, _she is_ , she’s so fine with it that she almost swallows her tongue when America comes out with Trish instead of Hope wearing – _holy fucking shit_ – the tiniest shorts known to man and a super flattering sports bra. Kate didn’t even know flattering sports bras _existed_.

Kate nearly swallows her fucking tongue and May smirks at her. She’s old enough to be her mother, grey hair be damned, and she fucking _smirks_ at her.

“You surviving there?” Jubilee leans over to whisper in her ear.

Kate makes a very,  _very_  quiet whimper before forcibly pulling her gaze away from America’s thighs and tuning back into whatever Trish is saying. It is way,  _way_  harder that Kate thought it would be. And Kate thought it would be hard.

America doesn’t pair up with Kate this time. Kate works with Ana and America with May, and Kate is  _fine with this_  up until America decides the best place for her and May to work is  _right in front of Kate_  and holy crap, she’s trying to kill her. This is it, this is how Kate Bishop dies; so distracted by America Chavez’ ass that Ana almost kicks her in the head.

“Pay attention,” America snaps and she could be talking to anyone – is probably talking to May – but Kate is fairly sure she’s talking to her. She wants to say, “To what?” or maybe, “I am,” but she wouldn’t be talking about the lesson and that’s way more obvious than Kate  _ever_  wants to be – at least before she can actually get the words out and tell America that she finds her  _hot like burning_.

Ana almost kicks her in the head again, but instead of getting angry – or as angry as Ana ever gets, which is only mildly annoyed – she just rolls her eyes and smiles. And Kate sort of wants to die.

“You are very obvious,” Ana says. Her voice is quiet because her voice is always quiet, but right now it feels conspiratorial. Kate rubs her hands over her face in exasperation. “Though,” Ana continues, “if it makes you feel any better, she is also very obvious.”

“Obviously what?” Kate grumps. America is possibly the least obvious person Kate has ever met.  _Ever_.

Ana pats her on the shoulder. “Well, apparently not that obvious then.”

Trish swaps them around after that and Kate ends up with Jubilee while America moves out of her sight completely to work with Colleen. It means Kate is actually able to get some stuff done, but it also means that she internally laments the loss of eye candy for the rest of the lesson. Plus Jubilee keeps smirking at her, which she knew would happen but is irritating anyway.

“Was chatting to David,” Jubilee says as they practice breaking out of various holds. “We’re taking bets.”

“Oh God.”

“Some of them are very pessimistic.”

“Jubilee – ”

“Your friend Anya, for example, thinks nothing will happen until Spring Break at the earliest.”

“ _Jubilee_.”

“No one has you making the first move.”

That stops Kate short for a moment. “Not even Clint?”

Jubilee waves that away. “Clint is loyal to you to a fault and also not part of this bet. But also no, not even Clint; Eli checked for us.”

“Traitor,” Kate mutters. She’s not sure if she means Clint, Eli, Jubilee, or just  _all her friends ever._

“You love us.”

After the lesson ends Trish takes May into the office for a chat about something and Ana slinks off home without changing, as per usual. The showers at Hope’s are nice, by gym standards, but apparently Ana lives close and prefers it this way and who is Kate to judge. Colleen practically flies through getting changed, already dressed and gone before Kate and Jubilee have helped put the mats away. Jubilee says Colleen has a date – possibly with Luke’s blond friend, possibly with someone else – and Kate’s realisation that Jubilee is the Gossip Queen suddenly terrifies her for reasons she’s not entirely sure she can quantify but she’s sure is to do with how everyone smirks at Kate as she heads for the locker rooms.

“You,” comes a voice from close to the showers, “are the most fucking oblivious person I’ve ever fucking met.”

And Kate only has enough time to register that it’s  _America_  hiding out in the changing rooms like a creeper before America’s caught her shoulder in a strong grip and is kissing her like she really fucking means it.

Kate’s brain flatlines for a moment and then kicks back in running double-time. She gasps and America takes the opportunity to slide her tongue into Kate’s mouth like it belongs there.

Holy crap, America’s skin is  _so soft_.

“You,” America pants into her mouth, “are  _so fucking oblivious_.”

“You’ve already said that,” Kate says between sucking kisses on America’s neck.

America’s hands work their way under Kate t-shirt (which is technically one of Clint’s old t-shirts, because it is  _the best_  shade of purple and Clint didn’t deserve it) and then into her sports bra and the first touch of America’s fingers to her nipple have her shuddering and moaning slightly. America just presses harder.

“Can’t believe you didn’t work out I’m gay,” America mutters.

Kate gropes her perfect, perfect ass, because  _she can_  and because it’s  _right there_ , while America presses her against the wall.

“It’s not like you wear a label.”

America pulls back and Kate whines at the loss of contact, sliding her hands down the back of America’s shorts and trying to pull her closer again. America counters by pushing against her chest, though her hands don’t even try to remove themselves from Kate’s breasts.

America’s mouth is all shiny and swollen. Kate would be embarrassed by how she strains towards it apart from how the embarrassment is outweighed by her overwhelming need to be  _kissing America Chavez again_.

“Chica,” America says, and wow that is much too serious an expression for a make-out as epic as this one, “I have Pride flag patches on all of my jackets. My entire Facebook is about LGBT issues.”

“Your Facebook is mostly empty,” Kate points out, because it is.

America’s thumb nail digs into Kate’s nipple slightly, telegraphing her annoyance and causing Kate’s breath to catch.

“ _Mostly_ ,” she grinds out as Kate pushes her hips further into America’s while simultaneously pulling her even closer. “And I counter:  _all of my jackets_.”

“Less talking,” Kate says, abandoning America’s ass in favour of sinking her hands into her sweaty hair, “more kissing.”

America squeezes her boob in warning. “Nuh-huh,” she says, leaning out of the way of Kate’s mouth. “More kissing will happen when you take me out this Friday.”

Kate pulls back to squint at America accusingly. “When  _I_  take  _you_  out?”

“You have made me suffer through at least a month of Not Flirting and I need some sort of recompense. Also notice I clocked  _you_  as being interested on day one. Your gaydar is shit, princess.”

“How about,” Kate offers in the most reasonable tone she can manage and deciding to ignore  _everything_  relating to the fact she never clocked America as gay, “kissing happens now and fucking happens after I take you out?” She smiles winningly. “That way I can research a little as to what the hell I should be doing.”

“Research…?” America’s baffled look morphs quickly into about the most devious and downright sexy expressions Kate has ever seen. “Oh princess,” she says, sliding her hands around and down her back to cup her ass. “I am going to have _so much fun_ with you.”

And Kate just grins and grins.


End file.
